


be your everything

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Bottom Din Djarin, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Flogging, Premature Ejaculation, Restraints, Strap-Ons, briefly but she does whip out the strap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: I wanna be a tool for you / I wanna be the one you use / cuz baby, I'm a fool for youa commission
Relationships: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV)/Din Djarin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	be your everything

**Author's Note:**

> 👉👈dont look at me as I wax poetic about din in sub space "it's OOC" shut up dave filoni. MEN GET PEGGED

The heat of the beskar forge coils in his belly, simmering under his skin like a fever. Din watches a bead of sweat roll down the bridge of his nose, blinking away the stinging in his eyes from the proximity of the flames. He can't wipe it away, can't touch himself.

The armorer stands fully clothed across the room yet has him under her complete control - iron handcuffs to keep his wrists above his head, silver barbels in his foreskin connected to a thin chain that pulls taut if he tries to move, smooth handblown glass secured inside him by a tight ring of muscle that he feels clenching and contracting around its cold weight.

He hangs like a piece of meat, with the handcuffs and the chain keeping him upright, naked except for the helmet. The vulnerability is so intense that his mind goes soft, pliable, like a lump of warm dough to be kneaded by her strong hands. She didn't have him stuff his mouth with that rubber bridle this time, the one that makes him drool uncontrollably. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak, so he remains silent, waiting for her game to start.

Back to him, the armorer removes her blacksmith gloves. Even without the bridle, he feels his mouth begin to water. Those hands, though he can't see her - he can hear the fabric rustling, can imagine her fingers emerging like hemipenes from a hooked sheath into the primeval light of the forge - oh, those hands which have wrung terrible pleasure out of him, sought out the places he is weakest with an unparalleled skill.

He hears the snap of gloves again, this time - the skin of a meerkat, coated in bacta, perhaps? Those gloves are his favorite, soft and silken. He squirms slightly in his restraints, just subtle enough movement to feel his body quiver from the barbels in all the miserably perfect ways. He can't help letting out a small groan, and then she turns to face him, helmet shimmering like an oil painting hung in the old Mandalorian palaces.

He throbs, blood-hot and painfully erect. She doesn't say a word. She strides towards him, brushing the flushed skin of his chest with a single gloved finger. He shivers, though sweat continues to gleam on his forehead. The bacta is cold to the touch; goosebumps prick his flesh.

She reaches between his legs and grips the flared bottom of the glass shape tucked inside him, gently twisting it left and right. He gasps, throwing his head back. With her other hand she presses their helmets together, cradling the back of his skull like the predators on the lava flats cradle their dinners.

It’s almost like a kiss, the contact of their soot-dusted helmets. 

She whispers, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he hisses.

“What was that?”

“Yes, please, ma’am, please.”

“That’s better,” she says. “Tell me when you need me to stop. If you can’t use your words, shake the handcuffs three times.”

“I know.”

“You _have_ to tell me if you want to stop. And I will listen. But for now...” She squeezes her hand around his cock and he startles, letting out a yelp that leaves him blushing. “Look at you. I’ve barely begun and you’re already a mess.”

She moves her hand, slowly, until only the pad of her finger is rubbing the underside of his cock. He whimpers, and she shushes him, _tsk tsk tsk._ Once again she grasps the bottom of the glass, but she doesn’t tease him with it - in a motion that knocks the breath out of him, she seizes it out. 

He’s left empty, leaking, flexing around nothing. And then she firmly pushes it back inside, past the point of resistance until it settles once more, with that overwhelming fullness.

He could stay like this forever, with that star-webbed night under his eyelids, basking in her control. His thoughts are like the molten metal inside the forge, submitting to their natures. She repeats the motion, and he cries out, more and more desperate.

Every time she removes it, she plunges it back in harder than before. All he can feel is the urge to cum on her beautiful glass cock. He realizes he’s been begging her incoherently and he doesn’t know for how long now.

But his mouth opens for a litany of, _"please, more, hurts, yes, need, please, more.”_

And then the armorer stops moving. He strains in his handcuffs, iron digging into his wrists like teeth. It feels as though all the blood in his body has been reduced to the length of his cock.

She positions above his thigh and grinds herself against him, using him like an inanimate object to pleasure herself. Her movement jostles the glass inside of him, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. His head falls back once more as he drifts in that passive dream of complete surrender, the _safety_ of it all.

She’s been speaking to him but he was barely able to pay attention. Now he can focus on her words, and he flushes at the filthiness of it all, telling him how good of a plaything he is, how gorgeous he looks when he's exposed to her like this, how pretty he moans for her.

“I know you more than you know yourself. I know what you need and what you deserve,” she says.

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” he whines. He would agree to anything she told him right now. No one has his respect more than she does.

She stands so she can retrieve the flogger he didn’t notice until now. She raises it high and brings it down on the soft flesh of his thigh, the same place she had rubbed until he was damp from her sweat.

He makes a high-pitched noise, and she doesn’t give him a moment to feel embarrassed - instead, she swats him five times in succession, erasing his thoughts.

When she starts to flog the other thigh, he cries out on the third strike and abruptly cums, marking his chest.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I - I couldn’t - I’m sorry - I - please - sorry -”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’re okay.”

“It was... a lot.”

“Too much?”

“No, no, just... good. It was...”

She sets down the flogger and takes him by the helmet again, saying in a firm voice, “Quiet. Be still.”

The combined rush of pleasure, followed by the shame of having finished without her permission, has made him woozy. He’s glad to not be allowed to speak; being able to obey a simple command like that calms him.

He whimpers as she applies bacta to his thigh, where the skin is red-hot and sore.

“I’ll find a way for you to make it up to me later.”

“Of course. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.”

She reaches for his handcuffs. "We'll stop for now. You look like you need a break."

"But, you haven't -"

"Like I said, you'll have another time to make it up to me."

"Please," he says, voice low and cracked, "let me make you feel good. Please? It wouldn't feel right, otherwise."

"Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Yes, yes! Yes, ma'am."

The armorer runs her fingers through the hair on his chest, sticky with cum. "Fine. You can be such a sweet talker when you want to."

From somewhere out of sight, she fetches her rubber cock, fixing it securely to her belt. She readjusts him so he's bent forward at a revealing angle, and then, rendering him utterly defenseless - she lifts his helmet, only revealing his stubbled chin and open mouth. Even here they do not betray each other when it comes to this. He licks his lips, heart thudding against his ribcage like a wild beast straining at his ropes.

Her thumb strokes his bottom lip, and suddenly, two fingers are in his mouth, thrusting over his tongue. He tastes himself on her glove and moans. Using her fingers to spread him open, as she would with the glass, she places her rubber cock on his tongue and slowly begins to fuck his mouth. He can smell her warmth and wetness through the fabric, and his softening cock twitches again.

It doesn't take long, once her pace quickens. The sloppy moans spilling out of his mouth and the drool dampening her trousers - she holds him in place, rolling her hips on the rubber cock. He knows when she's finished by the heavy breathing and then, the stillness. He sputters around her cock but he doesn't try to spit her out. He waits patiently, feeling that familiar ache in his throat, until she allows him to breathe once more.

"Good, you're so good," she sighs. "Perfect every time."

Eyes shining, he says, "Thank you, ma'am."

"If only you were this obedient outside the forge."


End file.
